One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic

This Sunday, Christians all over the world will observe the Feast of Pentecost, which people often call the Church's birthday. Our reading from the Acts of the Apostles recounts the day that the Holy Spirit alighted on Jesus's followers, equipping them for ministry. The story illustrates what we call the four Notes or Marks of the Church : that the Church is (1) ONE, (2) HOLY, (3) CATHOLIC, and (4) APOSTOLIC. We affirm these qualities every Sunday when we recite the Nicene Creed; but many of us say the words without really reflecting on what they mean.

The statement that the Church is ONE, emphasizes its fundamental unity, such as when St. Paul refers to us as "the Body of Christ." It is often hard to appreciate or even believe that the Church is one, when there are so many divisions among Christians into different denominations, theological views, and worship styles. Nonetheless, we affirm that, however much we human beings may have fragmented the Church over the centuries, God is working through us to restore it to wholeness, which is why ecumenical work, for instance, is so important. Remembering that the Church's essence is to be ONE should impel us to seek out unity where we can.

The Church is also HOLY, in that it calls us into a particular kind of living. This lifestyle is modeled on the example of Jesus, who showed us how to spread peace, justice, and harmony by fashioning mutual, moral relationships with God and among all human beings. The Church's teachings, its sacramental life, and its mission in the world are tools for us to live as Jesus did, so that we can inhabit that holiness.

The Church is CATHOLIC, according to the original definition of the word, which is "universal." The Church is not limited to one locale, one denominational tradition, or one worship style; but rather embraces all Christians everywhere. The Pentecost story in Acts is a testament to the fact that Jesus's disciples were commanded to spread the Gospel to every family, tribe, language, people, and nation, baptising them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Finally, the Church is APOSTOLIC, meaning that the Christian faith we practice is a legacy from the first apostles that has been handed down from generation to generation. Known as the "Vincentian Canon," St. Vincent of Lérins in the 5th century affirmed the universality of this apostolic faith by claiming that it is "what has been believed everywhere, always, by all." Now, that may seem like a pretty bold and sweeping statement that may not hold up under scrutiny; and yet it is easy to perceive even in our own Sunday services the enduring legacy of the apostles: the reading of Scripture; the blessing and sharing of bread and wine; prayers for the Church and the world. There are still many common features between our faith and that of the apostles, as the Baptismal Covenant in the Book of Common Prayer makes clear.

Although the Church is one, holy, catholic, and apostolic, it is only so in an imperfect way. The Church is often prone to schism and disunity, corruption and vice, denominational prejudice, and theological error. When we recite the Nicene and Apostles' Creeds, there's always a hint that we are making an aspirational statement, that we will work to make the Church a better and fuller embodiment of those four essential qualities that we claim for it. The Acts story is clear that the gift of the Holy Spirit was given to all who were present, without distinction--men and women, slaves and free, old and young, worthy and unworthy. The apostolic ministry has been given to each one of us, and each of us is called to serve. Each one of us is called to embody the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church as we go about the ordinary activities of our daily lives. That should give us something deep to reflect on this Sunday, as we recount the descent of the Holy Spirit upon Jesus's followers in the gust of wind that brings God's holy fire.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Tackling Prayer Book Revision

Much digital ink has been spilled recently on the revision of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, particularly in the last twenty-four hours following the announcement of four possible paths for Prayer Book revision by the Standing Committee on Liturgy and Music. In brief, the four possible approaches are 1) total revision; 2) no revision, but creation of a Book of Alternative Services; 3) continued conversation; and 4) deepen our engagement with the '79 book. I don't envy the SCLM, because whichever path is chosen, it will not please everyone. So, I want to thank the SCLM in advance for their good-faith efforts and commiserate with them for all the division and turmoil they will encounter. I'll keep you all in my prayers.

In June 2015, I wrote a post on Prayer Book revision that continues to reflect my thinking. My main concern was that, whichever option is selected, the comprehensiveness of Anglican identity and practice be preserved. If we are truly to practice common prayer, then there has to be some theological and liturgical center that we all share. That would seem to deny an "anything goes" approach, although I realize that we have incredibly diverse theologies and liturgical sensibilities. So, I proposed a hub-and-spoke model in which we retain the current Prayer Book with a few critical tweaks, like updated, gender-inclusive or gender-expansive language, and then authorize a variety of supplemental resources that would facilitate ministry in a variety of contexts. This model largely resonates with option 2. As a progressive inhabitant of the more traditional and catholic wing of the Church, for instance, it would be nice for there to be official options for Marian devotions or the blessing of throats on St. Blaise's Day. I also think it will be important to preserve Rite I as an option for many congregations. In a similar vein, we need to ensure that our plan for Prayer Book revision sustains the life of evangelical, Broad, emergent, and other types of parishes, too.

I have been concerned, however, that in the rush to be innovative, fresh, and creative, many parishes have largely dispensed with solid Prayer Book liturgy and theology in favor of newer resources from other denominations and traditions. I know many people will heartily disagree with me on this, and I respect that. I would encourage all of us, however, to reexamine the Prayer Book with fresh eyes, to return to our roots for a season to rediscover the richness of the common prayer that we DO have. Take detailed notes on what works well and what doesn't in our unique contexts. This honors the spirit of both options 3 and 4: to continue intentional conversation on Prayer Book revision and to deepen our relationship with the current BCP, especially if we've been away from it for a while.

And here's a challenge to all of us. To inform this exploration of our Prayer Book, let's do some reading about it. Let's begin by actually reading through the Prayer Book, including the rubrics to remind ourselves of what it actually says, to discover what it allows and what it prohibits, to identify what may be (out)dated, to appreciate the great flexibility already present. Then, perhaps we can commit to some additional reading, like William Sydnor's short, but useful guide, The Prayer Book Through the Ages. The more ambitious may wish to tackle Marion Hatchett's masterful, Commentary on the American Prayer Book, which I have just begun as an Advent discipline. And there are many other resources, as well. I'm sure I don't know nearly as much about the Prayer Book as I think I do. It is helpful for all of us to be educated about the sources for the current Prayer Book and the rationale for the choices that were made through the complex and lengthy revision process in the 1970s. As daunting and as polarizing as Prayer Book revision may seem, it is a opportunity for us to reflect prayerfully (for we are a people of prayer, allegedly of common prayer) on the riches of our shared life as Episcopalians.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

*Pause at the Asterisk

Open thou, O Lord, my mouth to bless thy holy Name; cleanse also my heart from all vain, evil, and wandering thoughts; enlighten my understanding; enkindle my affections; that I may say this Office worthily, with attention and devotion, and so be meet to to be heard in the presence of thy divine Majesty. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

I always begin my recitation of the Daily Office with this prayer taken from the Anglican Breviary, because it reminds me of the posture of attentiveness with which we are called to pray. Prayer is not supposed to be perfunctory or distracted or incidental. And yet, I have been known to rush through reading the psalms (and everything else) during the Daily Office, especially if I'm standing in a crowded train or bus struggling to turn pages and flip ribbons in that fumbling, one-handed manner without dropping the book or falling over a nearby commuter. As the bus jerks and jostles me, I am grateful for those days when I can take my time to savor the Word of God over a leisurely sipped cup of coffee. On busy days, there is probably little attention and devotion, and an abundance of wandering thoughts. Sometimes, all I can manage is to just get it done, so I can move on to the next thing.

The Book of Common Prayer notes on page 583 that "an asterisk divides each verse into two parts for reading or chanting. In reading, a distinct pause should be made at the asterisk." I have been in congregations where the asterisk is completely ignored, and in others where the pause is so long and plodding that it makes me want to jump impatiently out of my seat. I think there is wisdom in that tiny asterisk, whether the pause is long or short, because it forces us to take a breath and stop. We should do a lot more of that. The pace of the world is so furiously fast that we often fail to pause and think before we speak and act. Our attention seems to be dominated these days by the relentless threat of terrorist attacks, the never-ending ping-pong of presidential campaign rhetoric, and the instantaneous reactivity of social media. I often feel weary, and wish I could take a break from this assault on my senses. I need to recharge my batteries, but there doesn't seem to be any relief in sight. It just never stops. I need an asterisk for my life. Who's with me?

Earlier this week, I was beginning my morning commute standing impatiently on the platform waiting for the train to come. Seated next to me was a transit employee in her fluorescent vest, who eyed my clerical collar and struck up a conversation. She asked if I was a priest and where my church was, and after I explained what the Episcopal Church was, she introduced herself as Leticia and requested that I keep her in my prayers. I offered to lay hands on her and pray with her right there, if she wished. She readily agreed and told me what she would like to pray for. So, we prayed amidst the morning hurly-burly in the background, and she thanked me profusely. And I thanked her. Leticia offered me an opportunity to pause. We had forced an asterisk into the day's script. We had created a moment for attention and devotion and to thrust our wandering thoughts aside. It was wonderful. I wonder if our inability to pause is a function of habit, and whether more moments for intentional reflection and retreat from the maelstrom might be available to us if we simply learned to pay closer attention to the opportunities already available to us in regular unfolding of our days. Maybe that little asterisk is an open space to let the Holy Spirit in and speak to us.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

A Voice is Heard in Orlando

Thus says the Lord: A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more. - Jeremiah 31:15

When the news hit me of the mass shooting in Orlando, I was stricken by a sense of powerlessness in the face of so much violence and grief. It is hard to know how to respond to trauma on this scale without feeling that what we do is an empty gesture. One acquaintance of mine rawly declared that "thoughts and prayers" are a trite and perfunctory response to tragedy. "My prayers are with you in this terrible moment," is the sort of thing people feel socially obligated to say. After hearing it so many times, the words, however sincere they may be, lose their impact for the grieving. After all, people are devastated and terrified; they need something more concrete and actionable than a formulaic expression of solidarity.

I struggled with this. There was a very big part of me that resonated with my friend's sobering challenge. Are my thoughts and prayers just an easy, phone-it-in response that doesn't ask much of me? It doesn't inconvenience me, or make me go out of my way. It doesn't force me to change the pattern of my daily routine. It costs me nothing. I realized, though, that prayer--as unsatisfying as it may be for some people--is the foundational Christian response to everything in life, including tragedy. Our main job as Christians IS to pray. The whole pattern of our faith is grounded in prayer: the Daily Office, the Eucharist on Sunday, anointing, marrying, burying. It is all prayer. We pray for God's presence and activity among us in all of the moments of our existence; we call upon God's power to transform us when our own resources fail us.

As I walked into the cathedral to say Mass yesterday, I thought carefully about how the Church could be useful to the grieving. "OK," I thought, "let's own the grief and anger and pain and fear. That's where people are. The Burial Rite from the Prayer Book. Black vestments. The readings appointed for the Feast of the Holy Innocents." So, we did what the Church does in these moments: we prayed--hard. Praying isn't a passive act. Praying activates us to bear the Gospel into the world, to respond to the rhetoric of violence and death, of hate and despair with Jesus' message of love and healing and new life. Praying, both publicly and privately, is the act of drowning out the messages that destroy with the Good News that builds up. That's one reason we pray without ceasing. We keep preaching the Gospel over and over again, because the world desperately needs to hear it. The Evil One is a liar, don't you dare believe him.

Rachel's lament over her children.

Perhaps some of us pray the familiar words so often that we forget what we're calling upon. In morning prayer, for example, the collects reach out to God for peace and protection: "O God, the author of peace and lover of concord, to know you is eternal life and to serve you is perfect freedom: Defend us your humble servants, in all assaults of our enemies; that we surely trusting in your defense, many not fear the power of any adversaries; through the might of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen." In the aftermath of a tragedy like Orlando, these words take on renewed meaning and power. They are relevant; they matter. Engaging the biblical stories of Rachel weeping for her children--the tribes of Israel that were gathered for deportation to exile in Babylon--and the slaughter of the Holy Innocents by King Herod enfold our current tragedies within the larger story of God's action and salvation. There is kinship between then and now, between Ramah and Orlando, between the babies martyred by Herod, and those martyred by Omar Mateen. But these stories are also linked to the assurance in the Revelation to John that "death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away." God urges us to respond to tragedy by working to bring this New Jerusalem into being with our hands, and our feet, and our lips in prayer.

Jesus gathering the Holy Innocents to himself.

We were a small congregation in the cathedral chapel, but the sincerity of the prayer was palpable. There was no doubt in my mind or my heart that we were doing something meaningful and healing. After the requiem was over and the chapel emptied, two men entered to sit quietly and pray. One shared that he was having a lot of trouble with his grief over the Orlando shooting, and the other that he was angry and discouraged over a recent disappointment in his life. I laid hands on both and prayed with them, and I suggested to one that he read psalm 35--a source of great comfort to me when I felt I was being badly treated. The look of profound gratitude and comfort on both of their faces was very moving, and I was reminded that praying is the action the Church does best. Prayer is the center from which we become agents of God's healing, whether in activism, interfaith collaboration, liturgy, or the pastoral care of each other. May the Church never lose sight of its power to offer the suffering the gift of new life.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

The Grace of Faith and Family

This past week, I received a very special gift in the mail. My maternal grandmother passed away last year, and so my mother and my aunt have been cleaning out her house before putting it on the market. They had been digging through endless boxes of old receipts and tax returns, news clippings, and mementos for weeks. When I opened the mailing envelope, I found a very old Book of Common Prayer, an 1892 edition. My grandmother wasn't an Episcopalian, so I knew it wasn't hers. It turned out to belong to my great-great-grandmother, Grace Ella Jewett. Her name is embossed in faded gold lettering on the lower right corner of the soft leather cover. I don't know if the book's fragile condition is simply a result of its age or a lifetime of devoted use.

Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd, Allegan, MI

The Jewett side of my family came to America in 1638, and settled in Rowley, Massachusetts. They were definitely not members of the established Church of England. My family were Dissenters, that is Puritans, and included several ordained ministers suitably named after Old Testament prophets. When my great-great-great grandparents moved west to Michigan in the middle of the 19th century, they were among the founders of the local Episcopal Church, the Church of the Good Shepherd in Allegan, MI. My grandmother revered my great-great-great grandmother, Constance Ashley Bingham Jewett, and when she died, requested that she buried from the church that her ancestor had founded. It was a privilege to preside from the altar to which great-great-great grandma Constance must have looked as I buried her descendant, using the Rite 1 service that must have been familiar both to her and her daughter, Grace, whose Prayer Book I now have in my hand.

The Jewett women, including my grandmother, Helen, 
and her grandmother, Grace, both seated.

There is something very grounding in the artifacts of those who have come before us. They remind us that they and we are linked in a heritage of common worship and spirituality that invites us into a mystery greater than ourselves and our own experiences. In addition to Grace's Prayer Book, I also own an ivory rosary owned by my late paternal grandmother, which is sadly missing its crucifix. I still use it on occasion, just as I opened the 1892 BCP this week to read Evening Prayer, like my great-great-grandmother must have done. As I flipped through the book, it fell open to the page that contained "The Thanksgiving of Women after Child-birth." This place was bookmarked by a page torn out of a King James Bible, the second chapter of the Book of Proverbs, which begins, "my son, if thou wilt receive my words, and hide my commandments with thee; So that thou incline thine ear unto wisdom, and apply thine heart to understanding [,,,] Then shalt thou understand the fear of the Lord, and find the knowledge of God." In the moment, it feels as if I am being offered a word of life from the distance of four generations, perhaps that I might be nourished with a verse that might have consoled or challenged a family member I never met. We never know how the Spirit will speak to us or through us. In response, I can do no better than to read the prayer that my great-great grandmother Grace saw fit to mark for herself:

"O Almighty God, we give thee humble thanks for that thou hast been graciously pleased to preserve, through the great pain and peril of childbearing, this woman, they servant, who desireth now to offer her praises and thanksgivings unto thee. Grant, we beseech thee, most merciful Father, that she, through thy help, may both faithfully live and walk according to thy will in this life present, and also may be partaker of everlasting glory in the life to come; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

Many thanks, dear God, for preserving this legacy of Grace, that I too might be preserved and put to your service.

This is the Lord's Doing

"This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes." Psalm 118:23

As many of you know, I say the 12:10 Mass every Monday in St. Andrew's Chapel at St. James Cathedral in downtown Chicago. I always begin by welcoming everyone grandly to the Cathedral Church of St. James in the City and Diocese of Chicago. The space is small, but that doesn't mean the welcome should be! The cathedral is just a couple blocks away from Michigan Avenue, the major tourist destination known as the Magnificent Mile. We often get visitors who are in town for sightseeing and business meetings, as well as folks from the neighborhood. It is a mixture of tourists wandering in from the street to see the building's architecture, homeless people looking for a refuge from the danger of the streets, and people searching for a quick lunchtime Mass. Attendance at Mass is never high, and usually ranges from 3 to 6, including me. But I'm glad the cathedral is there to offer sanctuary--in whatever form people are seeking it. For many, it may be their only experience of the Episcopal Church, so despite the modest attendance, the stakes are still high.

Most are not Episcopalians, which has taught me to be more mindful of leading worshipers through the service. The team that revised the Book of Common Prayer did not assume a largely uninitiated crowd when the rubrics and stage directions were crafted, and so I've had to make up my own, lest a deafening silence greet me at the places specified for the people to respond. At the Dean's encouragement, I always preach a short homily on the feast or readings of the day. For the most part, I preach extemporaneously, because I think it's good practice for a priest to offer a word of life without rehearsing.  After all, many of the pastoral situations in which we find ourselves require us to offer something useful on the spot--theology, a prayer, a verse of Scripture, an anecdote. Preaching off the cuff is not a skill that comes naturally to me, so I value the opportunity to practice. I am getting better. There are some days when I think, "now, what the heck was that about, Ethan?" This week's homily was pretty darn good, last week's less good.

AND YET ... we must never discount the role of the Holy Spirit in liturgy. This week, I was approached by a woman who had been at Mass the previous Monday, the day after the Feast of Pentecost. She told me how much my sermon that week had helped her. I had preached on the verse from Psalm 118, "This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes," and my words had resonated in light of her experience as a person living with a chronic disease. I don't know exactly what I had said, but I do remember preaching that it is hard for us to trust that God is acting and shaping us in moments of adversity. I also recall being underwhelmed by my performance at the time. So, I was grateful that the Holy Spirit had been present with us that day, compensating for any of my self-perceived deficiencies and making the Word something living and nourishing for her. After she had shared this with me, we prayed together for her healing, and I was reminded that none of us ever knows how the Holy Spirit will use us.

Alleluia, the Spirit of the Lord filleth the world: O come, let us adore him. Alleluia.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

#TractSwarm: The Language of Fasting

On the first Sunday in Lent, I recited the Exhortation from the Book of Common Prayer to emphasize for the parish the penitential character of the season we had just entered. I had never been in a congregation that used the Exhortation, and so this was a new experience for me, as I imagine it was for many of our parishioners. The severe, chastening language of Rite I, including the Exhortation, was a brusque change from our usual affirming and hope-filled outlook. To say in the confession that "we acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness" might at times seem over the top and disingenuous for people who believe in the inherent goodness of humanity and see the glass as at least half full.

Yet, it has been useful to step out of our customary ways of praying and theologizing to confront the reality of human brokenness and sin. In a sense, we have been fasting from the normal language that nourishes our prayer and worship, and we miss it. It is a deprivation we feel in our very bones. If the function of fasting is to purify ourselves by dismantling the idols that keep us from a healthy relationship with God, then relinquishing our dependence on our linguistic comfort zone is a step in the right direction. If our customary language obscures the truth about human sin, which we'd rather not face, then it is meet, right, and our bounden duty to take a break from it and use language that forces us to see a different side of ourselves, even if it is our underbelly.

In the midst of all of the harsh "I am a worm and no man" language, however, there is a gentleness that can easily be obscured if one is not attuned to the Lenten theme of God's mercy.  The Exhortation, for instance, emphasizes that humanity is not beyond help or hope. God loves us extravagantly, and for this we are thankful:

Having in mind, therefore, his great love for us, and in obedience to his command, his Church renders to Almighty God our heavenly Father never-ending thanks for the creation of the world, for his continual providence over us, for his love for all mankind, and for the redemption of the world by our Savior Christ, who took upon himself our flesh, and humbled himself even to death on the cross, that he might make us the children of God by the power of the Holy Spirit, and exalt us to everlasting life.

Instead of just abandoning us to our endless wickedness, God's people are given useful strategies for overcoming their shortcomings. The Exhortation tells us to adopt a renewed reverence for the Eucharist, to forgive each other, to scrutinize our consciences, and if we are overwhelmed by guilt and sinfulness, to "open your grief to a discreet and understanding priest, and confess your sins, that you may receive the benefit of absolution, and spiritual counsel and advice; to the removal of scruple and doubt, the assurance of pardon, and the strengthening of your faith." In this way, the disciplines of Lent, such as fasting, confession, and Station of the Cross, prepare us lovingly to receive the joy of the Paschal feast. Fasting may take on many forms: abstaining from food or drink, resisting the temptation to judge or speak harshly of others, or adopting a more disciplined, healthier lifestyle that will honor the body as God's temple. However we fast, the sacrifice should dismantle the idols--even our language--that enslave us and distract us from our relationship with God.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Preserving the Nicene Creed

I am just back in the parish after having been on the road for a solid week, first at the Society of Catholic Priests annual meeting in Denver, and then at the Diocese of Chicago's clergy conference. Both events provided a stirring experience of the universality of the Church, the fact that we live out the Christian faith in our own distinct contexts, animated by different cultural traditions, pieties, and musical styles. And our theologies are often varied, as well. We discussed, debated, and even argued about what constitutes solid Anglican teaching. Are hospitality and justice, for example, sufficient reasons to change, say, the Church's official position on the communion of the unbaptized? Do they provide an adequate justification for revising the marriage rite in the Book of Common Prayer to encompass same-sex couples, or is more theological work needed?  And then, there's the Nicene Creed, another topic on which much digital ink has been spilled this week.

The core issue of the Nicene Creed is its status in a revised Prayer Book. Should it be included, and if so, why? In what form should it be retained? Should it remain a normative and integral part of the primary service on Sundays? Regardless of our different ministry contexts, the Nicene and Apostles' Creeds serve as a focal point of unity in the Anglican Communion. It will probably not surprise you to hear that people of good conscience have expressed a variety of views on this subject. And I am among them. So, here are my top five concerns about the Nicene Creed:

1. Restore the original Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed. My beloved read the words Niceno-Constantinopolitan over my shoulder and said it sounded like an exotic ice cream medley. I laughed and admitted that this blog entry might seem a bit esoteric and pedantic to some, so if it is, my apologies. But, in all seriousness, I think the Nicene Creed is a topic worthy of thoughtful debate. As "Crusty Old Dean," Tom Ferguson, has colorfully argued on his own blog, the Episcopal Church should decisively get rid of the filioque clause in the Nicene Creed that claims that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father AND the Son. For one, the filioque muddles and problematizes orthodox Trinitarian theology. Secondly, it was a unilateral decision to counter the Arianism of the Teutonic Christians, who viewed Jesus as inferior to the Father. Originally added at the Council of Toledo in 589 and later enforced by Charlemagne, the reason it was contrived no longer exists. To revert to the original Creed as formulated at the Ecumenical Councils of Nicaea in 325 and Constantinople in 381 would more faithfully recapture the sensus fidelium of the early Church that we embrace and pass on to future generations.

Archbishop Michael Ramsey

2. Pass the torch. Each generation of the faithful is charged with passing on the core tenets of the faith to the next. Archbishop of Canterbury, Michael Ramsey, wrote on the first page of The Anglican Spirit,

"I want to talk about some of the main enduring characteristics of Anglican tradition, the way in which the Anglican Church has in its life and teaching, theology and sacraments, given over that divine paradosis--which is the Greek word for something that has been 'handed over' or 'passed on.' For when we Christians speak of tradition, we mean the experience of the Christian community lying authentically within that which God through Christ has handed over for the revelation of himself and the salvation of men and women everywhere" (Ramsey, 1).

So, for example, what is the point of the catechumenate if we fail to hand over the core beliefs of Christianity as preserved in the Nicene Creed. In the current version of the catechumenate in the Book of Occasional Services, the direction is given that "it is appropriate that the Apostles' (or Nicene Creed) be given to the Candidates for Baptism on the Third Sunday in Lent and the Lord's Prayer be given to them on the Fifth Sunday in Lent." If we dispense with the Nicene Creed, then exactly what faith are we passing on? What statement of belief are they receiving?

3. Prayer Book revision. This leads me to Prayer Book revision. Dr. Derek Olsen has addressed a number of concerns that have arisen from a recent statement on Prayer Book revision from his colleague on the Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music, The Rev. Dr. Ruth Meyers. Dr. Meyers described the Nicene Creed as a stumbling block for many, and proposed that it not remain a standard feature of Sunday worship. This suggestion ignited the blogosphere and occasioned a flurry of responses, such as in the Living Church and on the Smoking Thurible blog. The Nicene Creed, I would argue, forms part of the esse of the Church, and is therefore not dispensable. Olsen argues, moreover, that Meyer's proposal is symptomatic of a cultural shift away from orthodox Christianity toward a variety of heresies aligned with Moral Therapeutic Deism. C. S. Lewis makes the point in Letters to Malcolm, for example, that "first, [common prayer] keeps me in touch with 'sound doctrine.' Left to oneself, one could easily slide away from 'the faith once given' into a phantom called 'my religion.' [...] By the way, that's another thing to be avoided in a revised Prayer Book. 'Contemporary problems' may claim an undue share. And the more 'up to date' the book is, the sooner it will be dated" (Lewis, 12). If you don't believe Lewis, take a look at Eucharistic Prayer C (referred to by people of diverse churchmanship as the "Star Wars Prayer") in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, and tell me it doesn't seem dated, despite its often lovely, lyrical imagery. As a guy who grew up in the 1970s, it does have a bit of a ''groovy, man" vibe to me.

4. Foster ecumenism. The current version of the Creed with the filioque is a serious obstacle to ecumenical work. Lest we forget, the filioque was one of the primary disagreements that led to the Great Schism between the Western and Eastern Churches in 1054. The Anglican Oriental Orthodox International Commission met last week in Wales, during which the Anglican representatives agreed to remove the filioque and move the two communions closer together. Dean Ferguson clarifies that the removal of the filioque is not meant simply to placate Orthodox Christians, who have long complained about its use among Roman Catholics and others (like us), but because it's a theological aberration that needs to be remedied. More generally, the Nicene Creed is not just an historical artifact. It remains the second component of the Chicago-Lambeth Quadrilateral of 1886/8 shaped by William Reed Huntingdon as the basis for Anglican ecumenical work: "The Apostles' Creed, as the Baptismal Symbol; and the Nicene Creed, as the sufficient statement of the Christian faith" (BCP, 877). I understand that this document, like the Articles of Religion (Thirty-Nine Articles) is housed in the "Historic Documents" section of the Prayer Book, but unless I've been misinformed, the historic Creeds, along with the Holy Scriptures, the dominical sacraments, and the episcopate, are still foundational principles for our ecumenical efforts.

Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed

5. Creeds are always necessary but not sufficient. During the Diocese of Chicago's clergy conference, the Rev. Dr. Mark McIntosh, Professor of Christian Spirituality at Loyola University Chicago, pointed out that "creeds are always necessary, but not sufficient." I absolutely agree with this statement--at least inasmuch as the Nicene Creed does not speak explicitly on every topic related to God or the Christian experience. There is much that we affirm about God and our lives as Christians that are not mentioned by the historic Creeds, and so I have at times complemented the Nicene Creed on Sunday morning with other affirmations as a way to encourage people to be reflective. The historic Creeds are the starting point of a spiritual journey. The Chicago-Lambeth Quadrilateral defines the Nicene Creed as the sufficient statement of the Christian faith, which I understand to mean that it supplies the essential foundation without being exhaustive like a multi-tomed systematic theology. But it does something else. In being the foundation, the Creed drives our seeking, leading us to be ever more curious, ever more passionate for God.

I realize that for many people reciting the Nicene Creed is difficult, containing certain theological propositions to which they cannot assent. It's tough for me, too. So, I get Dr. Meyer's point. But reciting the Creed is about more than agreeing intellectually with this or that statement. It's about affirming one's belonging to a heritage of faith and practice over many generations and seeking to live into the unfathomable mystery of God that the Nicene Creed expresses. In this way, the Church would not be the Church without it.

Why Episcopal Identity Matters: Part II

Last week's blog offered five reasons why Episcopal identity and practice are still relevant in a pluralistic, post-denominational, and postmodern society. This week, I offer the final five on my list.

St. Augustine of Canterbury

6. A rich theological heritage. The Book of Common Prayer provides a basic framework for Episcopal belief and practice, but Anglicanism boasts a much richer corpus of theological resources. Anglican thought traces its origins back beyond the Reformation to the era of Celtic Christianity and St. Augustine's mission to the English in the late 6th century. The Anglican heritage claims medieval greats, such as the Venerable Bede and Julian of Norwich. It is grounded in the work of major Reformation theologians like Thomas Cranmer and Richard Hooker and the sublime poetry of John Donne and George Herbert, both priests in the Church of England. Anglicanism nurtured the Oxford Fathers who led the Catholic Revival of the mid-19th century, which revitalized Anglican liturgy, hymnody, and architecture. It shaped the Christian Socialism movement later in the century. In this generation, Anglicanism has produced first-rate intellectuals and academicians, such Sarah Coakley, Katherine Tanner, Rowan Williams, and of course, Desmond Tutu.

7. Contemplation and mysticism. Anglicans are not just thinking folk. They are also people open to the deep, internal experience of God. The contemplative life ranges from walking the labyrinth or participating in a centering prayer group to joining one of the professed religious communities of the Anglican Communion, such as the Society of St. John the Evangelist, the Order of Julian of Norwich, or the Brotherhood of St. Gregory.

Chanting the Exsultet at the Easter Vigil.

8. Beautiful music. One of Anglicanism's principal contributions to Christianity is a strong musical repertoire. The Anglican tradition excels in both choral and congregational singing. At an Easter Vigil, you might hear a deacon chant the Exsultet, one of the most ancient and revered pieces of sacred music, followed by a choir performing Anglican chant and plainsong. During the week, you might participate in a Taize service or Choral Evensong with a contemporary setting of the Magnificat. On an average Sunday, you will likely join a congregation in singing hymns written by legendary figures, such as Isaac Watts, John and Charles Wesley, and John Mason Neale.

Map of the Anglican Communion.

9. A global context of belonging. The Episcopal Church is a member of the Anglican Communion, a worldwide fellowship of 38 national and regional provinces in communion with the Archbishop of Canterbury. The Anglican Communion is the third largest body of Christians in the world, after the Roman Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox churches. It consists of about 80 million people in 165 countries. Although sharing a common heritage in the Church of England and the Book of Common Prayer, each of these national churches lives out its Anglican identity differently, according to its unique cultural and social context. Some Anglican provinces are more catholic in their worship, while others are more evangelical or charismatic. Some are more socially and theologically liberal, while others are more conservative. The Episcopal Church engages with these other Anglican provinces through a variety of organizations and partnerships, including Episcopal Relief and Development, which offers support during natural disasters, epidemics, and other emergencies, as well as providing resources for long-term development.

10. An anchor in a turbulent world. Recent research from the Pew Research Center for Religion and Public Life and other thinktanks have demonstrated a resurgence of interest in traditional and liturgical forms of Christianity, such as the Episcopal Church. In a world when everything else is constantly changing, postmodern people are learning to value the spiritual grounding that the ancient traditions of Christianity have to offer.

This list is, of course, neither objective nor exhaustive; it is only my perspective on what the Episcopal Church and Anglicanism contribute to the spiritual life. Are there other reasons? Please respond back with your own suggestions and perspectives and add to this discussion.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Why Episcopal Identity Still Matters: Part I

This Sunday, I will conduct the first in a series of four classes on the Episcopal Church, what are often known as "inquirers classes." Although this is standard practice in Episcopal congregations, many might ask if this is still relevant. In a pluralistic, post-denominational society, does it matter whether we are Episcopal, Lutheran, Methodist, or Presbyterian? Haven't we evolved past these distinctions?

The answer is both yes and no. I firmly believe that ecumenical and interfaith collaboration is vital to the future of the Church, but I also feel very strongly that denominational identity is still worth building and nurturing. This belief is not the result of some abstract, intellectual exercise, but rather, the experience of my own formation as an Episcopalian. Below are five reasons why I think Episcopal identity still matters.

In Washington National Cathedral.

1. Common prayer. At the heart of the Episcopal identity is the notion of common prayer. As the old Anglican maxim goes, lex orandi, lex credendi, the way we pray shapes what we believe. Although many congregations now pray from Sunday bulletins, rather than pew copies of the Book of Common Prayer, worship is still based largely on the forms and rubrics of the Prayer Book. I can't count the number of times I have been in an unfamiliar city for work or vacation and have wandered into the local Episcopal parish for a Sunday Eucharist or weekday Evening Prayer. Whether it is in a country church, like the one my great-great-great-grandmother founded, or Washington National Cathedral, the patterns of worship remain familiar and consistent. In a strange environment, Episcopal worship has offered a locus of stability and belonging that I have greatly valued in a very fluid and tumultuous world.

2. An appeal to intellect, emotion, and the senses. As one elderly parishioner once said to me, "the Episcopal Church is the thinking man's church." The Anglican tradition has relied heavily on deep theological thinking, informed by Scripture, tradition, and human reason. However, the Episcopal Church has also encouraged people to peer beyond theological inquiry and debate to embrace experiential ways of knowing that engage the emotions and the senses. There is something deeply transformative about sitting in deep silence with others, walking the labyrinth, offering up prayers in great clouds of incense, or joining an entire congregation as they chant the Nicene Creed. Episcopal identity and worship engage the whole person.

Let my prayer be set forth in thy sight as incense.

3. Both ancient and modern. The Episcopal Church has been described as a creedal, rather than a confessional, church. This means that the Episcopal Church does not have a checklist of denominationally specific articles of faith to which members are expected to assent. Episcopalians ground themselves rather in the the Nicene and Apostles' Creeds, which articulate a heritage of faith and belief that goes back to the earliest days of the undivided Church. We may struggle to accept some of the content of these ancient creeds, but we recite them as a sign of our relationship with the generations of Christians that have come before us. But that is not all we are. We are also open to the new things the Holy Spirit has to teach us about what it means to be children of God and followers of Jesus in our own unique contexts. In the Episcopal Church, we value the tension between continuity and discontinuity, between tradition and new discoveries about God.

4. A democratic polity. The governance of the Episcopal Church was deeply influenced by the democratic, representative ethos of the United States, which was born in the same era. The Episcopal Church may be organized around the leadership of bishops, but these bishops are elected democratically by the clergy and lay leadership of each diocese.  At the national level, moreover, the Episcopal Church establishes official policy on a wide range of issues through discussion and shared decision-making that includes bishops and elected representatives of both the clergy and laity of each diocese.

Neighborhood peace vigil.

5. A social conscience. One of the reasons that I came to the Episcopal Church was its progressive stances on social justice issues, such as immigration policy, the ordination of women, and the inclusion of LGBTQ people. However, I have also respected that fact that the Episcopal Church is a very big tent, incorporating people who may not agree with me and supporting a diversity of convictions and outlooks: liberal and conservative, traditional and experimental, mystical and intellectual.

The attributes I have just described are not all unique to the Episcopal Church, but in the aggregate, they shape and define our shared identity as Episcopalians. In order for an individual or a congregation to understand who it is, it needs to be steeped in the larger tradition to which it belongs, to identify where there are shared connections, and whether there is divergence.  Next week: Part II.

Blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

A Tale of Knives and Nunchucks

An audio recording of this sermon is available by clicking here.

The letter to the Ephesians commands its hearers to, “put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.” In this day and age, this sort of language seems out of place, whether for its militaristic overtones or the medieval worldview that it invokes. The image of Christian soldiers has often made me very uneasy, reminding me of shameful chapters in our history, like the Crusades and the Inquisition, when people have been oppressed and killed in the name of Jesus, the Prince of Peace. Talk of the devil and evil forces, moreover, seems superstitious and outmoded, calling forth visions of damned beings with horns and tails, inhabiting a realm of eternal suffering and unquenchable fire. And yet, I am here to tell you that these images are still compelling and relevant, even to postmodern people who think they have evolved beyond conventional understandings of angels and demons, of heaven and hell.

A brawl breaks out at Starbucks.

On Tuesday, I sat at a table at the Starbucks on Bryn Mawr in Edgewater, waiting for a parishioner to join me to plan adult forums for the rest of the year. As I sat in front of my laptop leisurely sipping my latte, a commotion erupted, and three men ran past me, swearing and knocking over chairs. At one point, one of these chairs became airborne as one man tried to shield himself from the blows of the other two, who were clearly enraged and bent on inflicting verbal abuse and physical violence. The shop’s patrons were alarmed, and so I packed up my stuff, and dashed outside to find a police officer. By the time I came back a few minutes later, a policeman was leading one of the men out of Starbucks in handcuffs. Over the course of the next several minutes, four more squad cars pulled up to offer backup, and the other two men were taken into custody, as well. The anxiety in the room quickly dissipated, and people returned to their drinks, conversations, and mobile devices. But my story doesn’t end there.

After my meeting, I jumped on the Red Line for my usual commute to Grace. When the trained pulled into the Jackson station, we interrupted another altercation already underway. As the platform came into view, I witnessed a woman attempting to defend herself with nunchucks against a man wielding a knife. The doors opened, and an officer in plain clothes whipped out his badge and shouted, “CPD!”  He exited the train and attempted to separate the two combatants and calm them down. Aided by another police officer in plain clothes, he apprehended the man with the knife, who had attempted to seek refuge on the train, all the while spouting obscenities. I thought about how frightened the German couple standing in front of me must’ve been, their school-age daughter in a wheelchair, facing the door where all of this turmoil was occurring. The two officers managed to subdue the aggressor, remove him from the train, and put him in cuffs. The woman, still holding her nunchucks, thanked the police officers, and announced, “he had the devil in him. He had the devil in him, and he showed his true colors.” I’m not making it up; she really said that.

Jesus' temptation in the wilderness.

It was harrowing to watch both of these scenes unfold before me, and to feel powerless to intervene. I was grateful that the police were responsive and professional during these incidents of unexpected violence that endangered so many innocent bystanders. It was fortunate that an officer just happened to be standing in front of the door -- in my train car -- at that precise moment. I don’t know if it was divine grace or dumb luck, and I frankly didn’t care.  But when I become complacent, feeling that the world is safe, moments like this remind me that human beings can still be agents of great suffering and violence, that evil really exists. I am not saying, of course, that the perpetrators of this violence are evil or are somehow not loved by God, but rather, that human beings—and that includes all of us—are susceptible to the lure of all kinds of sins, to selfish motives and evil urges.  We may not all act on these temptations, but they prod and goad us, encouraging us to give in to our baser impulses. This is what the reading from the Ephesians is all about. The devil is all around you, he’s crafty and powerful, so be on your guard and protect yourself, the reading tells us.  You’re kidding yourself if you think you’re immune. After all, Jesus spent 40 days in the wilderness being tempted by Satan, who offered our Lord wealth and power, if only he would bow down and worship him. 

I know that in the twenty-first century, sin is a topic that is out of fashion, and out of sync with contemporary sensibilities. Nobody wants to hear about it. As Jesus’s disciples say to him in this morning’s Gospel, while our Lord is teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum, “this teaching is difficult; who can accept it?”  Sin seems like a topic for fire-and-brimstone sermons from the seventeenth century. Besides, the Church has done so much to make us feel bad about ourselves, because of our sexual orientation, gender, or gender identity, or for using birth control or getting divorced, and a host of other things, that we’ve consigned sin to the theological dustheap. But I’m bringing back Old Time Religion this morning just for a moment, because I think we’ve overlooked something. There is a reason that we make our confession every Sunday before receiving Jesus’s body and blood at the altar: sin is real. It is not only the sin we commit as individuals against each other for which we ask for forgiveness, but it is also for our participation in institutionalized sins, such as racism, misogyny, ecological devastation, and rampant consumerism. We have a lot of sin to repent for.

Jesus's Baptism in the Jordan.

Ephesians offers us jarring language that chafes against our inclination to think of ourselves as just fine the way we are. I have always subscribed to the concept of original blessing, rather than original sin. When God said on the sixth day that everything that she had created was very good, I take God at her word. We ARE very good, but that doesn’t mean we can do without God, that we are self-sufficiently moral without God’s help. Even as good as we are, “the spiritual forces of evil” are formidable, and so we need to be vigilant and disciplined, because sin could crop up anywhere, at Starbucks or on the Red Line. To “take the shield of faith, to “fasten the belt of truth,” and to “put on the breastplate of righteousness” expresses the human aspiration to overcome the temptation to give in to sin. “As shoes for your feet,” Ephesians counsels, “put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace.” In the face of sin and evil, we wrap ourselves in God, who shelters and protects us like armor.

This topic comes up most poignantly whenever I prepare new Christians, or their parents and godparents, for baptism. “Don’t be put off by the old-timey language,” I tell them. “Your child will face all kinds of evil in her life: human cruelty, apathy to the suffering of others, violence, greed, selfishness, and many other things that will divide her from God and her neighbor. In baptism, we are asking for God’s protection and guidance in such moments.” Indeed, the Baptismal Covenant in the Book of Common Prayer asks the person or sponsor, “will you persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord.” The response is, “I will, with God’s help.” The Prayer Book suggests that the avoidance of sin is impossible, and so we just plug away as best we can and rely on God’s help to set us back on to the path of peace. As the disciples asked Jesus, I now ask you, “this teaching is difficult; who can accept it?”  

All Religion is Local

Vie de Jesus Mafa, The Transfiguration

If "all politics are local," as the old adage goes, it's probably equally true that "all religion is local." Or at least we tend to behave as if that were true.  The day-in and day-out of parish life persuades us that the way we do things in our parish is normative for others in our tribe, such as the Episcopal Church.  The way we worship, the language we use, the hymns and music we sing, the way we run our meetings.  Now, even if we don't assent intellectually to this idea, we can often act unconsciously as if OUR way is THE way. We assume quite innocently that this is just how Episcopalians (or Lutherans, or Baptists) do things.  But religion is, at its heart, deeply contextual.

Bishop Lee installs the new vicar.  Photo from Br. Ron Fox.

Which is why I'm really grateful to gather on occasion with other Episcopalians to be reminded that I am part of a community much larger than what I know and do.  Over the last four days, I've been to three different Episcopal congregations to either lead or participate in worship. What is remarkable to me is the way that each of these communities of faith--as unique as they are--embodies the concept of the Church, with a capital "C."  As member congregations of the Diocese of Chicago, all three are firmly rooted in the Anglican/Episcopal tradition, despite the great variety and diversity of worship styles and cultural contexts.  It can be a wonderful experience to be thrown off kilter, pushed out of our comfort zones, and be invited into something unexpected.

On Thursday evening, I participated in the installation of my dear friend, Fr. Robert Cristobal, as vicar of St. George and St. Matthias Episcopal Church, an historically African American and Afro-Caribbean congregation on the south side of Chicago.  Much of the music was unfamiliar to me, and I noticed several visitors surprised by the exuberant engagement of the congregation with the preacher during his sermon.  And yet, here was the fullness of the Anglican tradition: the bishop, the Eucharist, the Book of Common Prayer, clergy and people of the Diocese worshipping together as one.  It was beautiful and joyous, compelling and powerful.

Chicago Chapter-in-Formation of the Society of Catholic Priests

On Saturday morning, I gathered with other members of the Chicago Chapter-in-Formation of the Society of Catholic Priests at the Church of the Atonement, Chicago for a Mass of the Blessed Virgin Mary, followed by the chapter meeting.  The service was a solid Rite II Eucharist from the Book of Common Prayer with the usual Atonement embellishments. We shared our latest news over brown-bag lunches, talked about the contributions we could make to the life of the Diocese, and engaged in a theological reflection based on the words of the new Presiding Bishop-Elect, Michael Curry.  On Sunday, I drove out into rural/suburban Kane County to celebrate Mass with St. James Episcopal Church in West Dundee, IL, which, as a rural parish, was preparing for its upcoming Rogation celebration.  It had been several years since I had done a Rite I Eucharist, and so I tripped over the King James English, which had at one time been so familiar.  Of course, their customs for celebrating the Eucharist differed a bit from mine, and we laughed over the imperfections and miscommunications we committed, such as when the server failed to do the ablutions after communion, and I forgot to return to the chancel following the dismissal for the announcements. We are all a product of our patterns, our routines, our contexts.

St. James window in West Dundee

I picture for myself the scene at Jesus's Transfiguration.  Matthew 17 records that right after Jesus appears transfigured in dazzling white, flanked by Moses and Elijah, "Peter said to Jesus, ‘Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.’"  One cannot help but wonder what Peter would have come up with if he had been allowed to build those dwellings.  Would they have all been identical?  Would Jesus, Moses, or Elijah have had any say in what their dwellings looked liked, how they were laid out, or how they were decorated?  Would James and John have been included in the design and building?  Would the three apostles have divided up the work and each taken responsibility for one of these dwellings?  Would they have fought for creative control or would they have collaborated harmoniously?

As it happens, each of them is credited with building a version of the Church in various places, all of which look very different from each other.  These apostles too understood that the Church is contextual, shaped by the unique identities, experiences and situations of the people in a particular time and place.  The lesson for us is to embrace the possibility that the Church can look and behave differently than we are used to, and yet we can find a place for ourselves in this new and unfamiliar incarnation of the Body of Christ.

Peace and blessings,
Fr. Ethan.+



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